


Music save your mortal soul

by Elfwreck



Category: Convoy (Song)
Genre: 1970s, Bathroom Sex, CB radio, Christianity, Gift Fic, Hippies, M/M, Music, Non-Explicit, Prayer, Road Trip, trucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfwreck/pseuds/Elfwreck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Eleven Long-Haired Friends of Jesus' side of the Convoy story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music save your mortal soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sorchafyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorchafyre/gifts).



> Sorchafyre, hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it; I was delighted at the chance to explore my favorite parts of the song. Beta'd by the wonderful Idella, who also did terrific cheerleading and handholding, and much help from Mr. Wreck about details of living on the road, hippie lifestyles, and gay politics in the 70's. Warning for homophobia in spots.

It was all Davey's fault. It usually is, of course, but this time it got outta hand. Nevermind them people what tries to tell you it's about the Duck-man; he mighta started it, but in the end, it wasn't his story. It was ours.

Davey's sweet and cute and has a smile like sunshine, and he's sexy enough to seduce the pants off a married preacher-man on a Sunday afternoon. Unfortunately, he ain't sexy enough to make a preacher-man forget about him on Monday mornin', so we had to tear out of Tulsa in a hurry. We loaded up the Golden Light Rolling Mission bus and joined a long line of trucks heading east on I-40.

We drove for hours, not because we really needed to get away in that much of a hurry, but because the trucks were moving fast and didn't stop much, and we just got into their groove. Brother Lovejoy handed the CB to Linda and she chatted with them; Rubber Duck was at the head of the line, far east of us, and his buddy Pig Pen was behind us somewhere. We were wedged between something hauling logs and a big box-shaped trailer with no clue what it had inside.

 _"Breaker breaker; this is Rodeo Mama, ridin' with the Church of Love and Freedom; this here fine line o' trucks looks like it's got plenty of freedom but we figured it could use a little more love."_

 _"Hey there Rodeo Mama; this here's Rubber Duck. Every trucker can use a little lovin' now and then."_

 _"Ten-four, Duck-man. We'll pray for you."_

 _"We'll be prayin' too. We'll pray them bears stay far, far away from us."_ And he chuckled at that, and Linda did too, and we heard a flurry of ten-fours and amens both.

*****

We pulled into the diner parking lot that evening and it was weird being the smallest vehicle in the lot instead of the biggest. Everywhere I looked I saw big rigs. Cabs, boxes, freight trucks—our bright yellow-green bus was like a tiny speck of sunshine.

Brother Lovejoy and Linda just acted normal, but most of the rest of us were kinda spooked. Most of our road trips were traveling with hippies and peaceniks; truckers didn't look nearly as friendly. Some of them gave us funny looks, and a few frowned at our long hair or our clothes. Especially at Davey, with his blond hair to his waist; everyone thought he was a girl until he turned around.

Davey smiled at everyone. He always did. A couple of the truckers kinda grimaced back, but there were no hippies here—nobody returned the smiles. But Davey's incorrigible; he winked at the ones who scowled. I tried to get him to stop, but he said, "Shawna, I'm just bein' friendly. Jesus said to treat everyone as your neighbor, and I'm thinking all these men are our new neighbors." I rolled my eyes. I do that a lot around Davey.

Brother Lovejoy coughed, when he entered the diner, to catch everyone's attention. Not that he needed to; there's a lot of us, and we're always noticed. Sometimes makes me want to hide, but Linda always says, "never hide your light under a bushel—if you feel shy, just think of Jesus facing all those crowds, and let his love guide you." So I tried to smile, and let Brother Lovejoy say his piece.

"I beg your pardon, good folks; I'd like to offer a spot of prayer, to say grace before we eat and for any of the rest of you who'd like that."

A couple of the men looked skeptical. They looked down at their steaming-hot dinners, and up at him, as if to say, _you gonna keep this prayer short so my dinner don't get cold?_

He smiled back at them with a twinkle in his eye. "I promise this won't take long; we're hungry too."

They set down their knives and forks as Brother Lovejoy moved into the center of the diner. We lined up two deep near the door, flattened ourselves as much as we could. Davey pressed against my side, and I leaned back against Shad as Brother Lovejoy looked around the room and started to pray.

"I'd like every head bowed, and every eye closed," and he looked around the room to see they were doing it. Maybe they didn't all quite close their eyes, but they at least lowered them.

I was always surprised when that worked. I bowed my head too, and closed my eyes, but sometimes I peeked anyway. This time, I saw Brother Lovejoy raise his arms as he started to speak.

"Good Lord, we thank you for this bounty, this fine food made by the hands of your good people. I know you watch over every sparrow that falls, so you must be watching these hard-working men and women; keep them healthy and safe in your arms."

He paused, and someone muttered, "Safe from bears is what I want." A couple of the men snickered. Lovejoy continued without missing a beat.

"And Lord, where laws are just, you bring sinners to their punishments, but where laws are corrupt, you help your beloved children evade that corruption. Bring these men good speed on their journeys and safe travel on your roads, may their trucks run smooth, and may they arrive at their destinations with their bodies and their goods intact. Amen."

"AMEN!" replied everyone, one big shout, and when we opened our eyes, they'd changed from a suspicious, almost-scowling crowd, to almost smiling. At least, we looked welcome now; they weren't giving us that "who let the dirty hippies in?" stare.

Davey looked around briefly, and his eyes sparkled as he spotted one of the men from outside. The guy was big, hadda be at least six-four, and built like a linebacker. Deep frown lines in his face, and he was at least thirty. He didn't look at all friendly to me, but Davey sashayed over to him in that cute wiggle he uses when he's sure he's among friends.

Oh Lord, I thought, don't let Davey get us all killed by angry truckers. He's only nineteen and don't know any better. Please, Jesus, I'll change the oil in the bus, I'll do anything; don't let us get into a fight here. Davey, be _careful_ ; this ain't the Castro.

The guy looked up at Davey, and he didn't smile.

"Mind if I sit here?" Davey's voice was shy, almost wistful. I managed not to put my hands over my face. I was sure Brother Lovejoy and the gang were finding seats, but I couldn't move until I knew we weren't gonna have to leave in a hurry again.

"Suit y'rself," the man said.

Davey slid into the booth—next to him, not across from him. I started over to the booth, ready to grab Davey, make some quick apologies, and run.

"My name's Davey."

"Michael." Short, clipped, but not too unfriendly. And he didn't flinch when Davey sat down next to him. Maybe this wasn't going as bad as I thought.

"Like the angel?" Davey said breathlessly.

"What angel?"

"Archangel Michael…." Davey got dreamy-eyed. Then he smiled as he faced the guy and bit his lip and said, "Hey, are you gonna be my guardian angel? Guard me when I sleep?" Davey _batted his eyes_ at this guy, this total-stranger trucker and I thought, oh Lordy we're gonna get it now.

But Michael just laughed. A short laugh, but a real one, and he put his arm around Davey's shoulder and gave him a quick hug.

"That kinda depends. I'm not much of an angel; I don't spend a lot of time guarding things from a distance."

"Well, then you might have to be in the bed," Davey practically purred at him.

"Reckon I might manage it then."

Not sure I could believe this. Davey was seducing a trucker in a roadside diner. I looked over to Brother Lovejoy, but he was sitting down with Linda, Shad and Meesh; the other girls and little Jimi were at another table, and the Prophet was wandering around outside like usual. He won't usually come inside a building; Witch Gliz usually saves him something to eat later.

I sat down across from Davey and Michael and tried not to blush at them flirting, if that's what it was. That's what Davey was doing; Michael was hard for me to read.

Not hard for Davey, though; after the third stolen French fry, Michael waved the waitress over and bought us both dinner, and Davey kissed him for that, a quick peck on the cheek and a wink that promised more. I gave Davey a hard look, and he blew me a kiss across the table.

I looked around the diner, but I couldn't see nobody watching us. Starflower, Shadrach and Meshach were off together, with little Jimi wedged into a corner so he couldn't run around the place; they had their hands full keeping him put. They were being quiet, 'cos sometimes people take exception to there being three of them, or with how dark the brothers are and how pale Starflower is, so they're always a little cautious around strangers; never know who's gonna show themselves to be a bigot.

Brother Lovejoy and Alex had pulled a bunch of the men into a circle, and they were holding forth on the importance of music as part of any ministry, and everyone was suggesting their favorite songs.

I tried not to think about some of the suggestions; since when is "Delta Dawn" a religious song? But hey, if it works for them, fine. Lord works in mysterious ways, and all that.

Davey twitched and fidgeted through his meal, pressing against Michael and then shivering a little. Michael (he really didn't look like a Mike) warmed up to him, relaxing a bit, almost smiling. And when Davey finished his burger and said something about washing up, Michael followed him into the bathroom.

Twelve minutes.

They were in the bathroom, together, for twelve minutes—I could see the time on the cheap clock over the cash register. I just knew that, any second now, someone was going to say, "hey, where's that kid, the one with the really long hair," and then we were gonna get chased out of town again, and this time Davey was gonna be pulling up his pants as we loaded into the bus.

But it didn't happen. Nobody glared at me or the spot where Davey and Michael weren’t sitting, and every time one of the truckers even started to look around, Linda would jump in with a bit of song, sing a verse from a Christmas carol or something like that, and everyone would look at her, 'cos she has a voice like spiced honey and God I hope by the time I'm her age I can be half that comfortable in a crowd. She made me stop worrying about Davey—and then the guys would go back to talking, and I'd start fretting.

Twelve minutes after Davey left the table, he came out of the bathroom with his hair mussed and that goofy smile on his face; Michael was right behind him, looking relaxed and fond and not mean at all anymore.

Davey slid back into the booth where Michael had been sitting; he looked half-melted. Michael picked up the check and put a couple of bills on the table for a tip.

"I gotta get back on the road," Michael said. "You keep in touch. My handle's Sodbuster; let me know your twenty and I'll stay close, okay?"

Davey gave him his sweetest, sunniest smile, and said, "I'll do that."

Then Brother Lovejoy was standing up, went up to the register to pay the bills and the waitress said, "It's been covered already;" apparently some of the truckers liked a bit of prayer.

Before loaded back into the bus, Brother Lovejoy decided we should share our blessings with song—that's what he always calls it when we sing in public.

He stood in front of us, directing and keeping time; Linda and Alex right in front of him 'cos they knew all the words to everything and could carry the rest of us if they had to. Me and Davey and Witch Gliz behind them, and Shad and Meesh behind us, because they had deep rolling voices and besides, putting the tall brothers in the middle looked good. Starflower with her tambourine to the right of them and little Jimi by her side now that he was too big for her to carry and sing; the Prophet to the left of them because he couldn't stand to be boxed in. It always seemed very silly and unnatural, too staged, until we started singing.

A few of the truckers stood around us, in kind of a half-circle, waiting to see what we'd do, and a few more came over after we started.

We sang "Light of the World" from _Godspell._ it was fun and upbeat and let us get over our shyness and just let the music _glow_ through us. Linda took the first verse, telling us we're the light of the world, so we can sing it back to everyone, and Alex took the next. He always managed to make "salt of the earth" sound like something precious, like salt was gold you could eat.

We all joined in on the chorus, and the Prophet called out "Let's have some wine!" with a wink to the truckers, and they laughed.

Shadrach sang the "city of God" verse, and it sounded like he was calling people to arms, or back to their homes; his voice was warm and rich and wrapped around us all like a blanket.

One more chorus, and Witch Gliz wrapped it up with the candle verse; she said she liked that verse best because it was about _doing_ something, and that lighting a candle was an act of the purest white magic, bringing light into darkness in the most literal way. And sometimes, she managed to say "no good without a wick" in a teasing voice that implied something else, but this time, she kept it clean.

We finished the song, and Brother Lovejoy had us close our eyes for a quick prayer of thanks, not long enough for us to get cold.

The truckers who'd been waiting around started leaving, one by one, but a lot of them stopped to thank Brother Lovejoy, and I know some of them shook his hand just so nobody would see them handing him money. We loaded up the van and headed back onto the road; figured we'd get in a few more hours of driving before picking a place to stop for the night. Didn't want to be in a city anyway; the weather was warm and we liked sleeping under the stars, nothing but open space between us and heaven.

We were all in a good mood after that, so Linda grabbed a channel where nobody was talking, and we sang as Brother Lovejoy drove, and she held the mic up to hear all of us. I loved singing to the mic, even if nobody was listening right now; made me feel like we were sharing, like we were part of something bigger than just our little family.

 _"Breaker breaker; this here's the Rubber Duck; any of y'all want to hear some music, we got our very own gospel radio show on channel 17. Them hippies sure can hold a tune."_

We sang "Where the Soul of Man Never Dies," and a few of the trucks sounded their horns for that, so we knew they were listening. Then Brother Lovejoy read from Psalms: "Serve the Lord with gladness: come before his presence with singing," and we sang "Spirit in the Sky," and got a lot more horns, and when we opened the mic, people cheered at us over the radio, a few "Amens" and at least one "Hallelujah," and I was happy we'd reached so many people.

Then Linda took the mic. She started with a verse from the book of James, "Is anyone among you in trouble? Let them pray. Is anyone happy? Let them sing songs of praise," and then added her own words. "This song is both prayer and praise, and it's one of my favorites."

Then she mellowed us out by singing "Amazing Grace," and we all joined her on the last verse, and I just smiled, thinking about ten thousand years of nothing but beautiful singing.

She let the mic fall open when we finished, and a cluster of "Amen, sisters" crackled through the speakers. Then the Duck came on again.

 _"Hey, Rodeo Mama? That's real fine music, but you think you could speed it up a notch? Some of these guys've been driving since sunup, and you sing any more like that, I'm afraid somebody's gonna fall asleep at the wheel."_

 _"Ten-four, good buddy,"_ she said, _"Lemme see what we can do you for,"_ and she turned around to face us.

We all tried to think of something to follow that, something energetic but not to break the mood, and finally Witch Gliz said, "Oil!"

"Oil?" asked Starflower.

"Oil in my lamp—that's what a truck is, right? Big metal candle burnin' oil all night long."

Linda's breath caught at the perfectness of that, and she turned back to the front and held up the mic for us, and we sang "Give Me Oil In My Lamp." Sometimes it's a slow song, but we sang it fast and cheerful, and when Meshach and his gravelly voice did the third verse as "Give me gas in my Ford; keep me trucking for the Lord," dozens of the horns went off; I don't think anybody heard the last line, and they all joined us on the chorus, honking along with the Sing of the Sing Hosannahs or giving two quick toots between lines.

When the cheers and amens died down, Linda took up the mic again. _"Any of you boys have any favorites? We can't promise to know everything, but we do know a lot of songs, not just gospel, and we'll sing just about anything. So how 'bout it—whatcha wanna hear next?"_

In the pause after she spoke, a voice rang out, ugly and vicious. _"Hey! Let's hear the faggot sing something about bein' queer!"_

A hush fell over the airwaves. Then Sodbuster broke in, snarling: _"Hercules, is that you? I'm gonna shove my boot so far up your—"_

He cut himself off.

I looked over at Davey. All the good warm happy of a minute ago was gone; he was _shaking_ with hurt and anger. I tried to hug him but he shook his head and pulled away, curled up with his arms around his knees. In the flashes of the highway lights as we drove, I could see him clenching and unclenching his fists.

We heard a few clicks on the line, but nobody said nothing. It was like they was waiting for us, waiting for Davey to react.

He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and let it out slow and hard. "Shawna," he said to me, prob'ly 'cos I was closest, "get me the mic." I got it for him.

He held it, scowling at it with his eyes closed for a long moment.

Brother Lovejoy started to speak. "I don't—"

Davey cut him off with a quick shake of his head. Then he pressed the transmit button.

 _"Hercules, is it?"_ His voice was tight and sour, like he was eating a lemon. _"D'you know who the real Hercules was?"_ He didn't wait for an answer. _"Hercules was Greek. And you know what the Greeks are known for…"_ and he chuckled, mean and bitter, before drawing in a deep breath to sing. Usually, Davey sang sweet and reverent; I always thought of him as having the voice of an angel. This time, the angel turned dark and his voice was sly and defiant.

 _"Sodomy, Fellatio,"_

That song was the reason _Hair_ had been banned in so many places; I shoulda known Davey would know it. He kept singing, drawing the words out, tasting their illicit decadence.

 _"Cunnilingus, Pederasty…"_

Then he turned angry and rough, almost yelling the next line.

 _"Father! Why do these words sound so nasty?"_

His voice didn't quite break on the last note, but it did fade, and then he sang plaintive, almost like he was begging for understanding.

 _"Masturbation can be fun…  
Join the Holy Orgy Kama Sutra  
Everyone." _

As his voice trailed off on the final note, high and tremulous, the trucks all around us were quiet—no horns this time; it was like they was still waiting.

Then the Prophet leaned over and took the mic away, keeping the button firmly pressed. We all looked at him, 'cos he never had anything to say to outsiders; he just joined in the singing, and not always that.

He took us all by surprise when he started singing. I'd forgotten his baritone was so light it could almost raise into tenor.

 _"A long, long time ago,  
I can still remember how that music used to make me smile…"_

By the first chorus, we all joined him, and Linda took back the mic. We all sang the second verse to Davey… _Do you believe in rock and roll; can music save your mortal soul…,"_ and we didn't give up the channel until we'd gotten through the whole thing, all eight-and-a-half minutes of it, and even Davey joined in on the final chorus.

As we finished the final words, Linda set the mic away, and we all looked at Davey. His eyes were wet and shining, and he took each of our hands in turn and said, "thank you, I love you all, thank you" over and over.

After about a minute of that, the radio crackled, and I jumped. I'd forgot it was even there.

 _"Breaker one-seven,"_ Sodbuster started, and we could all hear his voice was thick with feelings he wasn't gonna talk about, _"there's a rest stop in about ten miles that has fresh water and sometimes electricity; if you're lookin' to stop for a few hours, that's a good place."_

Before any of us can think, Brother Lovejoy's on the CB. _"We'll be there, Sodbuster."_

Then the Prophet grabbed the mic again, and read Davey's favorite bible verses. _"Beloved, let us love one another; for love is of God, and everyone that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. He that loveth not, knoweth not God, for God is love."_

And then he reached over and shut off the CB, and we rode in silence to the rest stop. We pulled the bus in next to Sodbuster's truck and got out our sleeping rolls, and Davey spent the rest of the night with Sodbuster. From the way the cab was rockin', he had a really good time.

The next morning, we found out that five truckers had been busted for speeding during the night, including Hercules, which made Sodbuster laugh. He tugged Davey's hair when they kissed goodbye, and he promised to keep in touch. I rolled my eyes at Davey when he half-floated back into the bus.

We loaded up again and headed toward Chicago. Davey had a cluster of hickeys on the left side of his neck that little Jimi kept poking, which made Davey jump, and then smile like he had a secret.

Brother Lovejoy and the Prophet spent the day praying for love and tolerance and speed and good mileage numbers (I don't know how they find bible verses for these things, but they do). Not a single one of the trucks in the convoy broke down while the police and national guard were all over the line, and Sodbuster and the Duck both think that was a miracle.

Sodbuster started calling Davey the convoy's "good luck charm," and after that, we couldn't pay for a meal or gas anywhere. We'd go up to pay and it was already covered. And then Davey'd blow kisses at everyone, and they'd be thinking of his smile the next time something good happened to them, and by the time we got to New York, half the convoy thought they were immune to blown tires, breakdowns, arrests, and maybe bullets.

 _"Ah, Rubber Duck to Sodbuster, come over. Yeah, 10-4, Sodbuster? Lissen, you wanna put that micra-bus in behind that suicide jockey? Yeah, he's haulin' dynamite, and he needs all the help he can get."_

It was kinda scary. It all worked out okay in the end; leastaways, I didn't hear about nobody getting' really hurt, and a whole lot of truckers had a great story to share.

The Duck's story—even though it's a good story—is only parta what happened. When they tell that one, they never talk 'bout the music and prayers and Davey's sweet, sweet smile, shinin' like a candle in the night. His story deserves to be remembered, too.


End file.
